Cry Hard
by mortianna
Summary: Even gentleman gangsters need a restroom - sometimes. What happens if they meet someone, who has been left there by some idiot or other?


Again a picture on Stezi's wonderful Rickman page caught my attention. Meeting the dangerous Mr. Gruber. Well, it didn't turn out as I thought it would, the Gentleman terrorist had to get back to business before getting on with it. 

So this has become more of a study in _angst _than in lust. Sorry, I'll try againJ 

Yes, see _Sirius_ for lust and smut – in German. 

Or _George and wench_ in English.

Whoever finds all Rickman quotes in this one, can call herself lucky. I didn't find all, I'm sure. Quotes from the films are my first languageJ 

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Cry hard

Oh god, she thought. Would she get out of this alive? She really much doubted it. All these guys seemed so crazy. And dangerous. Living in L.A. had made her aware of the dangers fellow human beings presented, but these were really a different category. 

This blond one really was totally mad.

And the others – so aware of their better position. 

And the boss - menace pure.

She shivered. 

Thanks to Holly Gennaro they had been allowed to use the toilets. High time it had been. Somehow she had managed to stay in her cabinet, when there had been a loud bustle and the others were shoved back into the hall.

She couldn't believe it at first. 

Had they really forgotten her? 

It seemed so. 

Forgotten her. 

She was alone.

Could be found out any moment, of course.

And then? They would kill her. 

They surely would. Like they had killed this idiot. Ellis was his name. This boasting, self-confident, cocaine-sniffing idiot. Who had nevertheless had had a right to live. She shivered and cried silently. Yes, they would kill her when they found her. Just for the fun of it. No, not the fun. But a person's life didn't seem worth anything to them. 

She should go out to them and get it over with.

What could she do here, all on her own?

Try to hide until everything was over? 

Try to be out of the line of fire? 

Hiding, like a coward?

Well, she was a coward. She had never before been even witness to bodily menace. And now there was a menace to her life. To hers and that of all the people in her company. Except for those who were already dead.

Mr. Takagi. The big boss. He had been quite nice. Tough, but nice. 5 children.

Her tears flowed again. She suppressed all noise frantically with her hand on her mouth. 

How this terrorist had talked about taking his life as an anecdote. Something which he was not too happy about but had had to do, as Mr. Takagi refused to cooperate. Cooperate – yes. He had said so. He was on business here, and if everyone did what he wanted, he would go. Or so he said. 

She didn't believe one word. 

He had eyes like a lizard.

Not like a human being. 

For all his expensive clothes and the careful language – with an accent as thick as a brick, by the way – he didn't seem human. His smile gave her the creeps. She shivered all over when she remembered how he told them about Mr. Takagi not being with them for the rest of his life.

On Christmas eve. 

And he was eating something, while telling about the killing.

And smiled.

And then she had seen his profile as something, the noise of the escalator, arrested his attention. 

He had looked like a reptile, really. A well-groomed, overgrown, soft-spoken snake. With eyes as cold as ice. Moving like a snake, even. When he glided to the escalator. Oh god, she would never get out of here alive. 

She shivered uncontrollably. 

There was a noise.

Someone was in here.

In the other cabinet.

She listened intently. 

Her heart beat like mad.

It must be one of them.

Alone. She heard no talk, no shoving around. No screaming.

No. Only the unmistakeable sound of water spilling. Well.

And someone hummed.

A strangely familiar tune. 

The Ode to Joy? 

Whoever would be humming that in such a situation? Someone who was out of his mind. Or not. Someone who was on a business trip here. And felt quite confident to get what he wanted. 

She felt cold. Ice cold. Then hot again. Her heart was beating so fast she was afraid he could hear it. She trembled. Now it was all over. Her children would wait for her and she would not come home. Not for Christmas. Not ever. She leant her hot face against the cold wall and cried silently. Her shoulders shook violently. 

In the other cabinet the toilet flushed. The door was opened. She noticed she had closed her eyes. Like the child she once was. The child who had been afraid of dogs. And was told, when she did not see them, they would not see her too. 

It had not really worked then.

It did not now. 

"Whose there?"

It sounded more like "hooz ser?" The accent was terrible.

But it only added to the feeling of menace. Of utter hopelessness and despair. 

She did not say a word.

Her eyes darted around. A window? A door? Some way out of here?

No.

When she looked down she could see the tips of two polished black shoes. Even the tips looked expensive. 

"Whose there? Come out" 

Oh, that sounded a little irritable. Not as he had spoken before. He had been so calm, even amused. Amused at the death, the murder, the killing of Mr. Takagi. 

Was that a good sign, then? She did not dare hope so. Possibly he would kill her even worse than he did the others. Well, the result would be the same. 

Mummy wouldn't be home for Christmas. Never again.

She felt anger rise. What the hell did he think? Come into her life and damage it? Wouldn't let her get on with it? Even take it from her? 

How dare he?

That German terror?

Well, however. He did. Dare.

"I will count to three. There will not be a four", the terrible voice said. "Come out". 

Again her eyes looked for an escape that simply wasn't there. What should she do? Lie flat on the floor? Cover behind the WC? Hoping he would not shoot the door? Hope he was bluffing?

He was not.

And she knew it. 

She took a deep breath.

And opened the door. Going to her death. Just like John Wayne and the other guys had done. Upright. Eyes squeezed against the sun.

No sun here. And no western, either. The guy came from the east.

It was their boss. Himself. Who was now retreating a little to let her open the door. 

Despite her fear she noticed his gliding movements. 

His eyes were on her in a way she would have liked to slap him for. Hard. This Ellis had had a way to look which was quite similar. At times. But on a lighter note.

This guy looked pissed. Really. Like she was a disturbance to his wonderful plans. Which simply had to be erased. As simple as that. He would not loose sleep on it. 

His brow was drawn. The eyes slits. A line between the brows. The mouth curled with disgust. His brilliant plans. He seemed to be something of a control freak. When she moved towards him, the mouth curled even more. 

"Now, what idiot left you here?" 

He had a weapon there. Apart from that voice. He had a small but deadly as far as she knew shooting device in his hand. Pointing at her. 

She took in the whole picture. This was the last thing she would see on this earth? What a cruel joke. She could not laugh. She had always avoided violence, not let her children watch movies like Die Hard and Terminator and stuff, and now the last thing she would see was a man with a gun. Like in a movie. Ridiculous. Really. She laughed. It sounded horribly. 

The weapon moved. 

"What?", he asked. Irritably as hell. 

She looked into his almond eyes. "I don't know what idiot especially it was who left me here. They were not introduced to me. After all, it was one of your idiots, was it not?"

His eyes narrowed even more. The mouth made some contortions. Jesus, to wake up with a man like that at the side would be like balancing on a razor's edge. 

Waking? After what? Did imminent death do that to her? Bring thoughts like that? She had always believed, read somewhere, that you saw pictures of the past in your last moments. Nice torture, she had always thought. All the things you would never have again. All the things you could never do again. All the things you could not change anymore. Thanks a lot. Another cruel joke of whomsoever. 

But nowhere had she read that you watched your killer and imagined him naked in your bed.

No. 

That sort of thing was supposed to happen on funerals. Cherish life as long as you live and all that. But on this special funeral she was to be the corpse to be buried, not the one to dance on the grave. 

Well, not yet.

As long as she could strip her murderer, in thought at least, she was not dead. 

Reminded her of some old psychological trick. Imagine someone you are afraid of naked. Or in his underwear. The thought was meant to make you more confident. 

Well, it worked. Somehow.

Apart from the fact that some part of her called her crazy and yelled at her. Finding this insufferable bastard attractive and strip him of this expensive suit, tie and shirt, yes, and of shoes, even in thought, was not politically correct behaviour. Not when that bastard has killed your boss and your colleague and was about to kill yourself. 

But she had never been in a situation like this.

She had to find her own way to deal with it. 

If she had the time.

She was still alive. He had not yet pulled the trigger.

He looked at her still. Looking her up and down.

She was wearing the formal wear required in a Japanese firm. Slightly more dressed up than usual, for the party. Black skirt, white blouse. Velvet, silk. Black stockings. Pumps even. They killed her. Not. This was only a phrase. She would be killed by this man with those amber eyes, an aquiline nose and a very sensual mouth, who looked at her like she were smut under his fingernails. 

She would run mad before she died 

But why the hell not? Did it matter? Now? 

He had something else in his hand now. A walky talky. He fumbled with it, nearly caressed it.

She swallowed.

Would he now call his minions? 

Let them kill her? Would he not even touch her? Not even kill her himself? 

What an asshole. 

Something in her eyes lit a fire in his. She had never been that angry. Not that she recalled. And she had had her moments. Her mother could bear testimony. As could her children. Yes. But she had never been so angry before in her whole life as she was now. To be given over to the gang and be killed by them. Like an actor playing a minor role in a movie would be dealt with. 

She was not a minor role. Not in her own life. And as long as she lived it was her life. 

She stepped closer to him. 

His eyes flickered. 

Good.

He would himself kill her. 

If it was the last thing she did. 

She took one further step. 

His fingers stopped fumbling the talking device. 

He looked at her with that contemptuous face. Like she was something smelly. Well, perhaps she was. It had been an exciting day. 

"Don't", she said with a voice she didn't know.

His eyebrow went up.

"What? I mean, beg your pardon?"

Was that a smile? Very nearly a smile?

No. Perhaps not.

"Don't call your minions. Do it yourself. You're up to it, aren't you?"

Jesus, she must be out of her mind. Well, never mind. She would be out of her body soon. 

Other eyebrow up, too. "What do you mean? I think I must have lost part of the conversation." 

Yes. Extremely irritable. Not someone you would have liked to put your back to. Not that she would get that chance. 

"Kill me yourself. You can do that, can't you? Like you did before?"

His mouth curled with even more contempt. "Why should I do that?"

She looked at him aghast. "Well, why should you not?"

He looked at her with piercing eyes. Then he began laughing. Yes, he laughed. That was to be the last minute of her life and he laughed. Splendid. 

He looked at her with a little less contempt. "Well, Ms. ? I'm afraid we haven't been introduced yet". "You should have come to the party. There was some kind of introduction." What devil made her say things like that? Like that was a real conversation, even a kind of flirty one, on a normal occasion? Perhaps the devil who would not die, who simply grabbed every opportunity, how out of place it might be, to survive. Get on with it. Would not be defeated. Never.

She had not known she possessed it. She felt sorry. If she had known that earlier – how different her life could have been. 

"Chase", she said, "Amanda Chase". 

He laughed again. And nodded. "Ms. Chase. My name is Hans Gruber. I'm sorry. I could not make it earlier. I would have enjoyed it very much on any different occasion, but alas: I had business to do." 

"Yes", she said, dryly, "I see". 

"As, in fact, I have now", he said, watching her closely. The eyes looked very dangerous again. "But be sure that I only kill people who force me to do so." Eyes grew smaller still. "Do you plan to force me?"

Mr. Takagi forced you?, she wanted to scream. She could not speak for Ellis, he had been an idiot, but Mr. Takagi… 

She did not scream. She did not want to die.

"No", she said. "In fact I'm completely out of plans." "Good for you", he said. "I have always found that plans don't help in every situation."

That from him? Who seemed to be the master planner? He must have another side, she decided. As have most people. Perhaps the other side would not kill as easily when plans were corrupted. 

Good. Perhaps. 

"I could go on talking for hours on end on these interesting philosophical issues, Ms. Chase", he said, "but I'm afraid, business must interfere." 

He reached out his arm, as in a polite social gesture. She shrank away from him. His face got angry. He grabbed her by the arm. Hard. As in a reflex, she tried to pull loose again. He grabbed harder and threw her against the wall.

Her face hit the cool tiles. She shut her eyes. Now she had overdone it. Now he would kill her. And perhaps for the better. What good could it do to sit around waiting for the end? Get on with it, something in her cried. 

He was very close behind her. His clothes touched hers. His breath was in her ear. His mouth was at her hair. God.

"As much as I would like to investigate further into this interesting direction of force, I'm afraid, we'll have to leave it there. For now. Perhaps we can get back to it when time allows – later?" His beard brushed her cheek, one long slender finger touched her chin. She was petrified. He turned her around again. And led her to the door. With the weapon. "Ms. Chase. If you please?"

She had completely forgotten the weapon. Idiot indeed.

She shivered involuntarily. Why? Reaction to stress? Helsinki-syndrome? She didn't' know. And she didn't really care. She was alive, come back from the dead, as it were. What was a little shivering against that?

She did not have the feeling that her acquaintance with him would develop into a long-standing relationship. 

End for now


End file.
